


Library Ballrooms

by RenderedReversed



Series: Shakespeare dorks [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: "sequel" to Underwater Balconies, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Poetry in general, References to Jane Austen, References to Shakespeare, Seventh year, Shakespeare Quotations, Shakespearean Sonnets, don't have to read the first to get this one though, kinda cute, nerds, still trying to cover all my bases
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3713149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenderedReversed/pseuds/RenderedReversed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knocking at his boyfriend’s underwater window isn’t the only time Harry has quoted Shakespeare back and forth with his boyfriend. It was just the first.</p><p>In which Tom likes to show off his eidetic memory by quoting literature, and Harry is forced to be his (completely unwilling!) verbal dance partner. That they’re in a library, of all places…? Well, he'll just hope Tom remembered to put up silencing charms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Library Ballrooms

It’d take Neville Longbottom suddenly becoming number one student in DADA for Harry to admit his love of romance novels.

He doesn’t like them for the _actual romance_ , of course—obviously not, that would be a huge blow to his masculinity and, seeker of the Gryffindor Quidditch team? Co-captain? _Hello_? They’d hold it over his head for _decades_ if they ever found out. No, Harry doesn’t like romance novels because there’s a girl and there’s this boy and they just so happened to be destined for each other—( _and this is their story_ …)—Harry likes them because they’re generally happy stories.

Growing up in a very… _unhappy_ household (to put it in the vaguest sense possible), Harry isn’t exactly accustomed to hugs and kisses and, well, _love_. So reading about it, when he knows for _sure_ there’s a happy ending and _true love_ somewhere in the plot, is nice. Very relaxing. Romance novels.

…That’s the only reason, okay?

And no one really… _knows_ about it other than his boyfriend, Tom Riddle. Prefect, top student of his year, _Slytherin_. Harry sometimes thinks that his life would fit very well into the frame of a cheesy romance, if not for the fact that it isn’t. Tom might _appear_ all perfect and wonderful and charming, but Harry knows him better than anyone else, and as such, feels absolutely confident to say his boyfriend is a prick.

He’s cruel and sharp, impatient and _intolerant_ , and has got an ego the size of a _continent_. That’s Tom, clean and simple. Harry prides himself on living under little to no delusion of what type of person his boyfriend is.

…He’s also… _honorable_ , and occasionally sweet, and stupidly charming, and cares for Harry more than Harry himself has thought to be possible.

Harry huffs. His relationship with Tom Riddle (or that they know each at all) is a secret, kind of. They sneak around, they make little white lies, they duck into abandoned classrooms and broom closets and into each other’s Common Rooms… all of the things a pair _secretly_ dating would do. But it’s not _that_ big of a secret—it’s just no one’s found out about it, and they don’t plan on telling anyone or being careless enough to let someone figure it out, so it’s a “secret.”

 Before they started dating, Harry and Tom were already good friends. The best of, surprisingly, as their houses absolutely _loathed_ each other. But Harry wasn’t (and still isn’t) the best Gryffindor around, and Tom’s so Slytherin that he’s not really part of Slytherin at all, so they made it work. And in the end, ‘like’ turned to ‘really like’ and ‘really like’ turned into ‘I better be the only one who gets to kiss you’—that was _Tom_ , obviously—and then _that_ became dating.

And the rest, well… history.

At the moment, because his boyfriend is busy doing whatever Slytherins do, Harry can’t spend some time cuddling with him in his room down in the dungeons (snakes and their _space_!), so if he wants peace and quiet, he’ll have to resort to other means. Gryffindor dorms are separated by year, and like a true pride of lions, not even the seventh years have their own rooms, so it gets rowdy. And while it might be empty at one point, soon enough, a lion will come wandering in to grab something they’ve forgotten, and then another one, and another one, and—

Harry’s made his point. There’s little peace and quiet in a lion’s den.

So, the only place left (aside from abandoned classrooms and the Room of Requirement, but the latter is too suspicious during the day) is the library. While there are people, Harry knows there are sections that no one ever goes to, like the Wand Lore section, where he can sit and read in peace. His thin copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ is, as _per usual_ , in his messenger bag, and he admits to being _slightly eager_ to unwind and laugh at Elizabeth Bennet’s running commentary of people.

He’d keep _Jane Eyre_ in his bag, but it’s a little too thick and noticeable. Same with _The Tale of Genji_. Harry isn’t exactly known as an active reader around school, and seeing him tote around books thicker than a few centimeters _other_ than _Quidditch Through the Ages_ would cause a few rumors.

About three chapters in and significantly less fatigued by the thought of schoolwork and teachers, Harry sits in a secluded corner of the library in one of the cushioned chairs, a window at a perfect angle behind him to shed enough light for pleasurable reading. He relaxes, idly rubbing the corner of the page between his index finger and thumb as his little odd habit makes him wont to do, and is just about to flip the page until a whisper blows next to his ear.

_“It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night_

_Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear;_

_Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!_ _”_

Harry jumps a foot high, book tumbling out of his lap as he turns his whole body about to see the face of his foe.

“For Godric’s sake, Tom!”

Tom chuckles. “Hush, darling—unless you want Pince to come over.”

“Well then you shouldn’t sneak up on me like that!”

“What can I say, you’re too adorable to resist—”

“Sod off,” Harry grumbles. He leans over to pick up his book again and brush off the invisible dust. “Didn’t you have things to do?”

“Ah, Harry— _Show a fair presence and put off these frowns_! I finished early. Didn’t want to leave my lovely boyfriend sitting all on his lonesome, you see. Someone else might find the opportunity to snatch him up.”

Harry flushes and bats away a hand that slid down his arm. “You’re ridiculous,” he mutters before going back to his reading.

He can practically _feel_ Tom roll his eyes behind him. Still, Harry ignores it and persists on enjoying his pastime of choice, even as his boyfriend walks around and leans over the armrest to shut his book closed.

_“What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand of yonder knight?”_

Harry glares at the offending hand keeping his book shut. The bloody show off!

…The line sounds familiar. Harry admits he’s not as well-versed in the other scenes of the play as he is the infamous balcony scene, but he knows a decent bit with what all the times they’ve read it together. What came next again…? Ah!

 _“I know not, sir_ ,” Harry deadpans.

“ _O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!_ _Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!_ _For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night._ _”_

Harry clicks his tongue. He shifts, attempts to wrangle his beloved novel out from under Tom’s steady grasp, and manages to succeed by finally settling for just _pushing_ his boyfriend away. That settled, he rearranges his posture (one leg crossed over the other, angled slightly to the other side) and re-opens his book.

Tom sighs dramatically.

Harry hopes he’s not in a playful mood—as, in all likelihood, he is, but his Gryffindor side hopes.

His hope dies when he continues to feel the burning stare of one Tom Riddle, even as several minutes elapse. Harry lets go a sigh of his own before grinding his teeth and saying, “ _Content thee, gentle coz, let_ me _alone_ _.”_   The last word comes out particularly harsh.

Tom doesn’t seem to care. “I _shall be endured_.”

Harry snorts. Instead of continuing their dialogue—as he knows Tom would just _love_ that—Harry returns to his silence and does exactly as Tom says. _Endure_. The seconds, and then minutes, tick by. It’s a battle of the wills; one they have often, admittedly.

Last time, Tom broke first.

Harry hears a rustle of movement. He wonders what Tom will do next, but stubbornly keeps his eyes pinned on his book… though, he’s been re-reading the same sentence for at _least_ six times by now. The words just don’t make sense under the pressure of Tom’s gaze.

And then Tom is on his knee in front of him and Harry feels the ominous chill of knowing what’s coming up next.

_“If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”_

His lover is unamused. “Tom, if you wanted to snog, you should’ve considered that _before_ you blew me off to go do _whatever it is_ that you ‘needed’ to do.”

Tom, used to being challenged but _also_ used to _winning_ challenges, clicks his tongue and stands up. Harry expects him to go away, but instead finds himself trapped as his boyfriend looms over him, two hands on either side of his head, a knee resting beside his thigh on the chair. For an added measure, Tom reaches down to close Harry’s forgotten book before returning his hand to its original perch.

Harry gulps. He’s lost, but he doesn’t want to give up—

_That’s it!_

The line comes to him just before Tom begins his victory smirk.

“ _This intrusion shall_ _now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall_ ,” Harry bites out.

Tom’s victory smirk still appears. With growing dread, Harry wonders what he’s gotten himself into. He probably shouldn’t have fought back when his boyfriend is feeling playful… usually it never ends well for him.

(The last time, the hickeys were a real _bitch_ to hide.)

As if to make it worse, with deliberate steadiness, Tom opens his mouth, takes a deep breath, pauses for half a second, and then begins to recite, “ _My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun_ —”

 _Oh Merlin, no_ —

“ _Coral is far more red than her lips’ red—”_

“Tom, I hate you.”

_“If snow be white—”_

“I swear to Merlin, Tom—”

“ _Why then her breasts are_ —”

“ _Okay!_ ” Harry whisper-shouts. “I get the point! I’ll pay attention to you, just… _stop_.”

“Will you now,” Tom deadpans.

“I will,” Harry insists. “Just… don’t… it’s _embarrassing_ ,” he stresses.

“Why? We’re alone.”

“We’re in the _library_!” Harry whisper-shouts again. “ _Anyone_ could walk here and see us! Anyone could _hear us_.”

“Oh, so you’re embarrassed of me now is it?”

“Wha—no! You prat, you know what I meant! Don’t take what I say out of context!”

“Why? We do it all the time.”

“Yeah, in your _room_. Or in the Room! But not—” Harry makes an exaggerated wave, or at least the most he can make while still trapped beneath Tom.

Tom frowns. He’s got a look in his eye that Harry recognizes enough to fear, and when the smaller (but certainly not _weaker_ ) boy realizes the danger and tries to get away, Tom firmly pushes back his shoulder to keep him trapped.

“You’re embarrassed,” Tom states.

“Yes, we’ve established that, now could we just—”

“Of _me_.”

Harry groans. “Oh for Salazar’s sake—Aren’t _you_ embarrassed? It’s… it’s—uh… Muggle poetry!”

Tom frowns. “That may be so, but I find nothing humiliating about expressing how much I care for you.”

The easy confession makes Harry flush. “What happened to the sixth year prefect who _was_ …” he mumbles under his breath. Unfortunately, Tom hears him.

“We’ve already done away with _him_. I’ll not be… _insecure_ ,” Tom sneers at the word, “anymore. Certainly not with _you_. I mean, you’re obviously _mine_. It’s silly to think otherwise.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Yes yes, you silly little possessive lizard of mine; now, if you could just—”

Tom narrows his eyes. Harry pauses, and then gulps.

“ _Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?_ ”

“Salazar save me.”

Tom grins. “ _Thou art more lovely_ —” he emphasizes it with a kiss on the nose, “ _—and more temperate.”_ Another kiss. “ _Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May_ —”

“July.”

The Slytherin frowns. “May.”

Harry shakes his head, a red shade building in his cheeks. “ _July_.”

Understanding what his boyfriend is trying to tell him, Tom laughs and then accepts the odd correction with yet another peck.

_“And summer’s lease hath all too short a date._

_Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,_

_And often is his gold complexion dimmed_ —”

Harry cuts in exasperatedly.

_“And every fair from fair sometime declines,_

_By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed_ —”

Tom smirks. Harry renews his attempts to get free and actually manages to succeed by slipping out beneath his boyfriend’s arm. However, he’s left his book, which Tom then straightens to dangle with one hand as a taunt.

Tom begins again, with more flourished dramatics.

 _“But thy eternal summer shall not fade_ —”

Harry frowns as he makes a swipe for his captive book.

_“Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st—”_

Tom raises it so it’s out of reach.

_“Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade—”_

Harry huffs.

_“When in eternal lines to Time thou grow’st.”_

_“So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see—”_

Impatient, the Gryffindor tackles Tom and successfully catches him off balance. Harry snatches his book back and finishes, quickly running through the line, _“So long lives this, and this gives life to thee._ Yes yes. Now that we’ve established that we _both_ know Sonnet 18— _”_

“Stubborn,” his boyfriend notes. “One would think with all those romance novels you read—”

“They’re educational!” Harry sputters the first thing that comes into his head.

“In _what way_? If you wanted me to teach you about those things, you could’ve just asked—”

“ _Oh dear Merlin_ —Tom, you stupid prat—” Tom has his infuriating smirk on again. Harry wishes he could scrub it off his stupidly attractive face.

“Why, ' _it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife_ ,' is it not? And—” the Slytherin sighs, “—it is the duty of the _wife_ to teach his good husband things, isn’t it?”

Harry makes an ‘X’ with his arms. “You’ve got things completely backwards! And why are _you_ the wife—… crap _wait_ , that doesn’t mean that I—”

At some point, Harry _really_ has to make sure his head filters what comes out of his mouth. Tom looks _far_ too… _enthusiastic_ taking advantage of it. The Slytherin makes it his business in turn to invade (and siege) his personal space, hands finding their way to his waist.

Harry squirms and tries to move away. He’d be perfectly fine with it… if they weren’t in the _library_!

“ Y- _You do wrong your_ hands _too much_ —”

Tom grins like a satisfied cat. “ _Which mannerly devotion shows in_ what?”

“T-this: F- _For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch_ —” Harry non-too-gently pries off his boyfriend’s grabby hands, “— _And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss._ ”

The Slytherin drops his voice to a breathy whisper, one that always succeeds in getting Harry hot and bothered. “ _Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?_ ”

Harry clicks his tongue and darts away, moving so the chair is an obstacle between him and his boyfriend. “ _Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer_.” He stresses that last word.

 _“O, then,_ ” Tom exclaims, and Harry despairs at the reminder that _Romeo_ wins this particular meeting—he doesn’t even think he can switch the lines this time, since Tom is determined to be on the _winning_ side— “ _dear saint, let lips do what hands do;_ _they pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair._ _”_

“ _Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake._ ”

Tom _looks_ at him like a hungry hawk, and Harry tenses in preparation to spring at the unintentional warning. However, it is not _Harry_ who moves first. The only notice the Gryffindor gets is the line, “ _Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take_ _,_ ” before Tom leaps over the chair.

Saved by his quick seeker reflexes, Harry narrowly escapes capture. “ _Exit_!” he squeaks, voice a bit too high but it’ll be a _million years before_ he acknowledges that, and makes a run for the bookshelves.

Tom is apparently faster.

“ _Pursued by a_ snake,” he hisses into his ear, arms wrapped about Harry’s middle from behind. Harry can’t see but can certainly _imagine_ what sort of look the seventh year has on his face.

…He’s lost. Pretty hopelessly. Harry sighs and leans back, and Tom’s grip tightens at the trust. “ _Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps_ ,” he quotes quietly.

 “ _If it proves so, then loving goes by haps._ ”

Tom lets him turn around and in the secluded, silent light of the library nook, they kiss.

Harry is the one to pull away first. “What was it again,” his laughter is light and self-mocking, “’ _Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably’_? It’s been awhile since I’ve read it.”

“Act 5 Scene 2,” Tom answers immediately. Harry slaps him on the arm, more for the action than any plan to cause pain.

“You know, making fun of me for my genre of choice doesn’t exactly work if _you’re_ the one memorizing all the romantic quotes.”

“What if I told you it was for the sole purpose of wooing you? According to the grape vine, you’re a _very_ difficult fish to catch.”

Harry snorts. “That’s because I’ve been taken since fifth year.”

“Oh, they’ve been after you long before that. I think I started having to take action in… hm. Beginning of fourth year?”

“ _Tom_!”

Said Slytherin laughs. “ _For which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me?_ ”

Harry rolls his eyes. But he knows this one—thank the Founders that he does; keeping up with Tom takes a lot of effort. “ _Suffer love! A good epithet! I do suffer love indeed, for I love thee against my will.”_

“Hm. Very good. A+. You could’ve also used the previous line, _for which of_ thine _bad parts didst_ I _first fall in love with_ thee _?_ —I’ve swapped the pronouns appropriately, of course—and still’ve gotten full points.”

Harry sighs. “Gee, _thanks_. You’re such a _nerd_ , Tom.”

“ _I’m_ not the one who carries around a copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ for _educational_ purposes.”

“Well _I’m_ not the one who argues that _Richard III_ is a _comedy_!”

“I wouldn’t go so far to say _that_. I simply said I _appreciated_ Richard’s dark humor.”

Harry snorts. “Are you going to take me back to your room so we can snog in private or _what_?”

Tom chuckles in a sort of breathless way, and Harry is reminded of exactly why he’s so enamored with the sound.

_How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..._

They move so Tom has Harry’s back pressed against a bookshelf. Tom will never admit it, and Harry’ll never say, but the Slytherin absolutely _adores_ cuddling. Harry bites back a laugh as he feels Tom’s cheek nuzzle against his own, much like a cat. The laughter dies when Tom swoops in for another kiss.

“ _Oh Harry_ ,” Tom mumbles, “ _I am slain!”_

There’s a loud _thump_ near one of the other bookshelves—the sound of several books falling to the ground—causing the two seventh years to instantly pull apart. Harry’s wand is in Tom’s hand before the Gryffindor can even blink.

_Wait… when did he—that was just in my wand holster—… Damn it, Tom—_

“Who’s there?” he barks.

There’s a rustle of movement, and Harry sees vaguely familiar brown bushy hair hiding behind the shelf. Tom sees it too, and is unamused by the failure to properly conceal oneself.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” the Slytherin hisses. There’s a pause before another rustle of movement, and now Harry just wants to know who he has to try and explain this to.

Hermione peeks out of her hiding place, smiling sheepishly. “I d-didn’t know you read Shakespeare, Harry.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo I've been kinda in a really sad mood lately, and I figured the only way to make it better is fluffy Tom/Harry! yaaay
> 
> More Shakespeare because recently I've been doing Literature hw and I'm really tired of annotating and analyzing sonnets :( (works quoted in this fic are: Romeo and Juliet, Much Ado About Nothing, The Winter's Tale, Sonnet 18, Sonnet 130, Elizbeth Barret Browning's Sonnet 43, Pride and Prejudice)
> 
> Also the title is a reference to R&J's meeting scene (which takes place in a ballroom, just as the balcony scene took place on a balcony and Underwater Balconies was named after--hahaha get it)
> 
> Hope you are happy with this short oneshot ;-;"
> 
> Also I really like it when Tom develops because of his relationship with Harry. If you compare Underwater Balconies!Tom to Library Ballrooms!Tom, you can see the growth ^^~


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